The day of Celeste's visit to the Academy of Magic.

  The whole school was in an uproar — and the reason was simply that Regis Celeste, the talk of the entire capital, was coming.

  Rumours had been circulating throughout the city: that he was a visitor from another world who wielded supernatural powers beyond both magic and thaumaturgy; that he had conjured a flying island above the royal capital and made himself its lord; that he had used those same uncanny abilities to bring Piglet refugees under his banner and amassed a vast fortune practically overnight. The sort of rumours that would have Celeste himself saying "That sounds terrifying — who is this person?" — and now the man himself was descending upon them. For the young magicians-in-training, creatures who lived and breathed curiosity and the hunger to know, sitting still was simply not an option.

  It wasn't only the students.

  The faculty had heard the same rumours, but they had the additional advantage of having heard about the real Celeste directly from the Headmaster, who had met him in person — which meant they were, if anything, even more excited than the students at the prospect of meeting him.

  ...Though 'the real Celeste,' filtered through Bazderi Nairan, was almost certainly a story that would have Celeste himself speechless if he ever heard it.

  Among all of them, Assistant Lecturer Vanarde Yure was fluttering with anticipation.

  A tabby-striped Felinoid from a merchant family, he had been born with an insatiable curiosity and a hunger for learning that had led him to hand the family business to his younger brother and enrol at the Academy over his parents' objections. Sharp-minded and studious, he had distinguished himself quickly — and from his very first year, he never once relinquished the top position in lectures and theory.

  ...That was as far as it went.

  His theory was flawless. His practical sense for Mihi — the ability to actually use it — was, quite simply, nonexistent.

  Tusita's magic does not draw on a magician's own reservoir of power. Rather, it requires the practitioner to understand the fundamental forces that permeate all things — and by manifesting those forces, to call forth various phenomena. This is magic. To go beyond manifestation and bend the very laws of nature to one's will — that is thaumaturgy.

  The faculty and Vanarde's fellow students, seeing how effortlessly he dominated every lecture and written examination, were convinced that his practical ability would eventually blossom. Everyone was certain of it.

  The moment he understood that it never would came near the end of his third year.

  The Academy was a four-year institution. The first three years were spent in study; in the fourth, most students went out on practical placements — interning at established workplaces or apprenticing at magic workshops, then submitting a field report and thesis to graduate. But for someone whose theory was perfect and whose practical ability was nil, there was nowhere willing to take him as an intern.

  In the end, despite his first-place standing in theory, the path to becoming a magician was closed to him.

  He could not go home. Not after all of this.

  Headmaster Nairan took pity on him and arranged a position as assistant lecturer in the theory department. It was a lifeline for someone with nowhere to go — and yet, left behind at the Academy as the magician who couldn't make it, what must his days have felt like?

  To someone like him, the rumours of Celeste — who wielded supernatural power without a single trace of Mihi — had felt like a single ray of light.

  Perhaps, from that person, I might find something.

  "Greetings, students of the Academy of Magic. I am Regis-Basi Celeste — Marc Tenger — in the flesh!"

  Celeste stepped through a Gate onto the lecture hall podium, appearing from empty air. He had deliberately transferred directly from his car into the hall — recreating the entrance he used before ministers (and, admittedly, because Bazderi had asked to see the WiFi camera in action) — and sure enough, students and faculty alike erupted in cheers. Well. The court magicians had been just as overwhelmed when they first saw it. No great surprise.

  Celeste himself, having decided that if he was going to do a demonstration he was going to do it properly, had thrown himself into the role with considerable theatrical enthusiasm.

  ...Whether his rather wooden delivery was noticed by anyone is a question best left unasked, given that the audience was too busy losing their minds over the Gate to pay attention to anything else. Perhaps that is a mercy.

  What followed was much the same as the demonstration before the court magicians: transferring to various corners of the lecture hall, distributing ballpoint pens — duplicated on the spot, one per person — and handing out batteries with an announcement that 'the first to determine how this device stores Fulge magical energy will receive a prize' (with a reminder, of course, to take care with the chemicals that might leak if the casing were broken open) — and then:

  "I am donating five sets of the solar cells that power my estate to this Academy for research purposes. I intend to pursue the reproduction of this technology in this country. Dissect them, experiment on them — analyse and research as freely as you like. This is all I have brought today, but if you need more, ask without hesitation. I will fund your research. I am counting on your curiosity."

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  The lecture hall became a crucible of excitement.

  In the middle of it all, Vanarde Yure was staring at Celeste with an expression that looked very much like a man trying not to cry.

  No trace of Mihi had been detected. None at all. And yet — those phenomena, one after another, each more miraculous than the last.

  That battery he had just duplicated — one, into enough for everyone in this school — was something that had never existed in the history of Tusita: a device that produced weak but stable Fulge output. And the solar cells he had donated without a moment's hesitation, with the promise of more if you want it —

  As someone who had failed to become a magician because he couldn't use Mihi — and as someone who looked at this man and saw the ideal patron for magical research — Vanarde found himself overwhelmed. A being who had stepped out of a dream was standing, in reality, right in front of him.

  "Well then, everyone — I look forward to the day we meet again with your research results in hand. Headmaster, I leave the rest to you!"

  With that breezy farewell — breezy, at least, in Celeste's own estimation — he stepped back through the Gate and vanished. The applause that followed rolled through the lecture hall like thunder.

  As the faculty and students made their way back to their respective corners, clutching their ballpoint pens and batteries, Vanarde returned to his desk in the corner of the staff room.

  "Hm? What's this?"

  On top of a pile of accumulated papers sat an unfamiliar, neatly addressed envelope.

  "An invitation...? To Vanarde Yure: Upon reading this letter, come to the Headmaster's office."

  If the Headmaster wanted him, he could simply have called for him. Had someone slipped this onto his desk while the entire school was in the lecture hall? But who?

  Either way, the letter said upon reading, and he had now read it.

  Vanarde made his way to the Headmaster's office at once, knocked, and announced himself.

  "It's Vanarde Yure."

  "Come in."

  The voice from inside was not the Headmaster's.

  He recognised it — but why would that voice be in there?

  "Excuse me."

  He pushed the door open and found, seated on the sofa in the Headmaster's office, the man who had vanished into the air not twenty minutes ago.

  Regis Celeste.

  "Ah — Yure. Glad you came. Sit down — I have something to discuss with you."

  Vanarde froze for a moment at the sight of someone he hadn't expected at all, then collected himself. The person in front of him was his own personal object of admiration and one of the highest-ranking nobles in the kingdom. He could not afford to make a poor impression.

  "R-Regis, it is an honour to—"

  "Skip the formal greeting. 'How do you do' is fine. Though we did meet in the lecture hall just now, so that might not even apply. Anyway — sit. I can't think straight with someone standing."

  Permission — or rather, instruction — to dispense with formalities. Nothing to do but comply.

  Vanarde sat. Celeste began.

  "Vanarde Yure. Eldest son of the Yure family, a mid-tier merchant house. Gave up the family business to a younger brother out of a love for magical research, enrolled at the Academy against his parents' wishes. Never lost the top position in lectures and theory throughout his time as a student, but had no practical sense for Mihi — never became a magician, couldn't go back home, has been scraping by as a theory assistant lecturer. Anything I've got wrong?"

  What a feeling it must be — to hear your own harsh reality recited back to you by the person you admire most.

  Vanarde was, at that moment, discovering precisely what that feeling was.

  "Nothing."

  "What are they paying you here?"

  "One hundred Feli a week."

  "...That's dreadful. How are you managing?"

  "I'm allowed to use the caretaker's room at no cost — so if I'm careful..."

  Why is he asking this? Why is he dragging me further down into the pit?

  Vanarde was very nearly at his limit — when it came.

  "Three thousand a month. What do you say?"

  "...I beg your pardon?"

  "Three thousand Feli a month, and a room — a servant's room, but a room — at my estate. No rent, obviously. Meals provided at the house. That's the offer. I want to hire you as my personal tutor in magical theory, and as my Magic Theory Consultant."

  "I — what?"

  The person in front of him — what on earth was he saying?

  Even with a mind as sharp as Vanarde's, his thoughts simply stopped.

  "If you'd rather not, I can move on to the next—"

  "N-no! Absolutely not — I mean, I would never—!"

  He lunged at the lifeline in front of him before he'd even finished thinking.

  But there was something he needed to ask.

  "I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, but — might I ask a question?"

  "Of course. Ask freely."

  "If you'll forgive my presumption... why me? When you could hire a proper magician—"

  "Is that what you were going to ask? No — what I needed was someone exactly like you. A magical theorist. I'm not trying to learn magic because I want to use it. I want to compare the foundational theory of magic with Earth's scientific theory and find the points where they converge. For that purpose, someone who never once gave up the top position in theory strikes me as exactly right. And a practising magician would have other things to be getting on with."

  Someone who can't use magic. A failure who only has theory.

  And yet — here, for the first time, was someone who saw that as worth something.

  That was what Vanarde felt, with a certainty he couldn't shake.

  "There's something else. What I'm trying to research is — in essence — technology that anyone can use, whether or not they have Mihi. A practising magician, faced with a problem, would naturally reach for magic to solve it. But you can't do that. Which means you'll think differently."

  "You're not wrong."

  How many times had he thought to himself: if only I could use magic, this wouldn't be a problem?

  And here was this person trying to overturn that assumption from the ground up.

  "So — are you willing?"

  "If someone like me would do — then yes. Please."

  The conditions felt almost as though they had been made for him.

  It would be strange to refuse.

  "Good. Then let's get the employment contract signed."

  Celeste produced two copies of a contract and held them out.

  "R-right now?"

  "Would you prefer not to? I'm a little impatient, I'm afraid. I've already finished speaking with the Headmaster, so — sign the contract, then pack your things."

  "...You really don't waste any time, do you..."

  Vanarde laughed despite himself, and began reading through the contract. If Regis and the Headmaster had already come to an arrangement, there was nothing to do but go along. Not that anything in here was to his disadvantage.

  "Oh — one more thing. You can keep reading while you listen. I, Regis-Basi Celeste, hereby take Vanarde Yure into my service as a retainer. Furthermore, by authority entrusted to me by His Majesty the King, I bestow upon you the rank of Menus. Any objections may be raised here and now."

  "......I beg your pardon?"

  "Ah — no objection noted. Congratulations. From today, you hold the rank of Menus and are counted among the nobility. Still the lowest rung, but — I'll be asking you to manage the research institute, so it comes with the territory."

  "Wh — what — WHAT?!"

  What followed — Yure arriving at Alabaster Hall in Celeste's car, being shown to a servant's room that turned out to be an apartment of entirely modern appointments, and very nearly fainting at the facilities therein — is another story entirely.